


Come Back For Him

by FeralCreed



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock BBC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 08:26:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1681511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeralCreed/pseuds/FeralCreed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Sherlock left on the plane out of England, the flight kept going. For several months, John and Sherlock were separated and alone. Then Sherlock got a text message that made him drop everything else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Back For Him

_It's John... - MH_ Mycroft knew that was all that would be needed to get Sherlock's attention. He pretended not to notice the nurse entering the room, choosing instead to focus his attention on the cars driving two stories below him. It was a fitting place after all, he supposed. St. Bartholomew's Hospital.

 

_Something happened to him... - MH_ He had to say more than that, even if he couldn't tell Sherlock what had happened until they were face to face. Sherlock was smart, even though living in the goldfish world had dulled his wits. But, apparently, not his love for John. That was what he was counting on.

 

_Come back, Sherlock. For him. - MH_ Sherlock might pretend he didn't care through a phone. But Mycroft knew how to manipulate his brother more than any other person. Except for John Watson.

 

 

Sherlock put down his phone, hands trembling. Face white. Mind barely functioning. He'd felt like this only once before, this overwhelming fear, after facing the Demon Hound from Baskerville. That time, too, he had been afraid for John Watson. Been afraid that maybe something really was out there, something that could kill John.

 

John. His John. His _Jawn_. John Watson, who kept him right. Kept him just this side of being human. In a world of mechanical minds, where emotions were cracks in the gears that kept sane thought moving, Sherlock had developed one fatal flaw. Love. Love for John.

 

He still remembered that last day, that last minute, that last second, when they'd stood together at the airport. The plane had been waiting behind him. Mycroft had warned him that they couldn't be late. But as he'd stood there, knowing he was seeing John – his John, whatever Mary had to say about it – for the last time, he couldn't make himself leave.

 

He'd been a coward. He hadn't been able to tell John that he loved him. But now he had his chance to make things right. He could return to England, return to John, return to everything he had once known. Feel London's quivering, beating heart. Feel John's.

 

 

A man dashed haphazardly across the street, almost getting run over by a speeding taxi. Ignoring the curses shouted after him, the man darted down the sidewalk and into the hospital, slamming the door behind him. The receptionist narrowed her eyes at the man's reckless activity, but was soon distracted by the ringing telephone and a complaining patient. The man left the waiting room and pulled a nurse to the side, speaking in sharp, hurried tones. Staring at him in shock, the nurse nodded and led him down the hallway.

 

 

Taking a bite of his toast, Mycroft tried to focus on his breakfast but yawned instead. He inhaled and exhaled deeply, wondering if he would fall asleep later in the day. He didn't want to be awake. Didn't want to be here. The British government needed running, and there was a new bake shop opened in the most fashionable part of town. Sherlock should be here soon. If there was anything that could happen to save John, it would be Sherlock's return.

 

“What happened?” demanded a deep, anguished voice at the door.

 

“Greetings, brother mine.” My croft didn't turn around, continuing to look out the window. “How are you today? Happy to be back in England, I suppose.”

 

“What happened to John?” Sherlock repeated. He entered the room, abandoning Molly outside, and went to the bed.

 

“You have your little powers of observation,” Mycroft remarked. “Apply them.”

 

“Tell me what happened,” Sherlock ordered his brother.

 

Mycroft sighed and started talking. John had been in a fight. Holding his own until he'd tripped and fallen backwards down a flight of stairs. Since he hit the bottom step, he hadn't woken up. The thugs had presumably stolen his wallet and gun, then left him to be discovered by the cleaners in the morning. St. Bartholomew's had been the nearest hospital. He'd been identified by Molly Hooper two days later.

 

Sherlock almost couldn't think. How could someone attack his John? Why? Mycroft indicated a chair near John's bed and he sat down almost on instinct.

 

“Sherlock,” John murmured.

 

“Yes.” Sherlock smiled as he tried not to cry. “I'm here.”

 

“I guess I'm dead, then.”

 

“Why?”

 

“You left me, you bloody bastard. Banished.” John's eyes opened. “Am I the only one of us who remembers?”

 

“Well, he doesn't have amnesia,” Mycroft said. “So I think I'll take my leave. Good day to you, John.”

 

“Hang on.” John started to sit up in bed but Sherlock stopped him. “Was that your brother? Am I in St. Bart's?”

 

“Yes, and, well, yes,” Sherlock answered him. “Lie still, John. Do you remember what happened?”

 

“Hit men. Pretending to be drunk thugs. In a bar. Baited me into fighting.”

 

Sherlock's whole body tensed as he realized that someone had tried to kill John. There must be a God, because only that could have saved him.

 

“One of them said a name,” John said quietly. “Sebastian... Stan? Maybe 'Stanley'.”

 

“It was Stan,” Sherlock replied, fighting the urge to pace the room. Something John said caught his attention again. “They baited you into fighting? How?”

 

“They told me you were a fake. It was all a trick, just a magic trick. Your words. Almost exactly your words. Nobody else has the right to say them. Nobody else has the right to say anything.”

 

“Well, I, uh, certainly appreciate it. What you did, there, that was, I guess, good. That was good. Thank you.”

 

“What are you doing back in England?” John asked. “I thought Mycroft said you couldn't return.”

 

“Oh, that was just Mycroft's pomp and circumstance. Well, actually, I don't think I _was_ supposed to be coming back. But, you know, things happen for a reason, as they say.”

 

“What was your reason? For coming back? It can't have been me.”

 

“It was you,” Sherlock confessed. “John Watson. Always you. You keep me... human. Remember, I told you I was like a rocket, tearing myself apart on the launch pad. But with you I was different. Whole.”

 

“You came back for me? Not for some case? Finding me here wasn't the side effect of solving the latest mystery for the crown?”

 

“I dropped it all,” Sherlock said. “You know what they say, John. 'A man is lost without his blogger'.”

 

“I think you're the only one who's said that.”

 

“Yes. Well. You get the point.” Sherlock clasped his hands together.

 

“Yeah, I think I do.” John cleared his throat. “I'd be lost without my detective. God, that sounded horrible.”

 

Sherlock laughed. “No, no, not at all. I'm honored.”

 

John risked a smile. “As you wish.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> "As you wish" - Princess Bride reference (and headcanon in which John sometimes says that because Sherlock doesn't know what it means and John can therefore say "I love you".)


End file.
